


Pending Review

by persxphone



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persxphone/pseuds/persxphone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bellamy is the pizza delivery boy Clarke has a crush on and Raven takes it on herself to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey it's Bellamy. My manager showed me the comment I thought it was funny

"Raven, what did you _do_?!"

Cue a righteous guffaw and Octavia's incessant snickering. Clarke's fingers turned white around her cellphone as she resisted the urge to hurl the slim device at either one of them. Or maybe it was to stop them from shaking? Clarke took a deep, steadying breath as Raven sing-songed, "Whatever do you mean?" as if she didn't know exactly what she'd done. And what she'd _done_ was send in a review to Dominos saying God-knows-what to provoke a text from one Bellamy Blake who, if it hadn't been obvious before, it was now _crushingly_ obvious had no idea who she was.

"What did he say?" Raven pressed, dropping down on one side of her while Octavia took the other.

"Wait, he seriously doesn't know whose number this is? I call him from your phone all the time when mine dies. He's met you, like, a zillion times!" Octavia burst.

"I hate to break it to you, but your brother isn't exactly the most observant of people," Clarke grumbled. She'd known Octavia for four years now, ever since they met in photography class in high school. Octavia had been in tenth grade while Clarke was in eleventh, but the photography class had been for all grade levels. Octavia had been forced to sit with Clarke, a goody two-shoes, and the pair had hated each other instantly. But close proximity every single day for months meant they had to actually talk to each other at some point, and it turned out they had plenty in common. They'd been best friends ever since. And because Bellamy had been raising Octavia singlehandedly since she was sixteen, Clarke had had her fair share of run ins with the older Blake sibling. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot and had never been able to take a proper step past that, but Clarke liked to think their banter had turned a little more playful over the years, rather than the scathing insults they'd hurled at each other in the beginning. Never mind the crush she'd had on him for three of those four years.

"There's no way he doesn't know it's you," Raven insisted. "He probably just doesn't think you saved his number."

"Text him back!"

Clarke's thumbs hovered over the screen, and for a heart-stopping minute she didn't know what to say. Then she realized she didn't have to play along with this stupid game of Raven's and her fingers started tapping, _Sorry that was my frien--_

"Raven, give me back the phone!"

"Octavia, catch!"

"Octavia, get _off_ the table!"

"Not until you tell my brother you've got the hots for him!"

"I do _not_ have the hots for--"

"We know you better than anyone, don't even try that garbage on us."

"Raven, catch!"

"Octavia, n-- _Raven Reyes, do not text him for me_!!"

"Ooooh, last names are coming out. Clarke is gettin' serious. Octavia, hold her down."

Clarke bucked and twisted, but Octavia had her flat on her back in no time, knees pressing into Clarke's shoulders and weight sat squarely on her diaphragm. Whatever kind of training that Lincoln guy was giving Octavia for eighty bucks an hour, it was working. With a resigned huff, Clarke went limp against the floor and wheezed, "I can't breathe, O."

"This is your fault for resisting," Octavia drawled back, far more interested in whatever Raven was typing into Clarke's phone. The weight did lessen somewhat, however, and Clarke took a grateful gulp of air. Not that it did much to counter the nerves making her head spin. What was taking so long?

"Oh, he replied!"

"Let me see," Clarke whined. Raven held the phone out to her and Octavia crawled to the side, allowing the blonde to sit up and seize back her device. Skimming the texts, she was relieved to see that Raven hadn't been overly scandalous with her message -- actually, she'd been downright appropriate -- and that Bellamy was neither annoyed nor... Wait... "Wait a minute, he knew this was my number," Clarke stuttered. "Why did he text me?! He must've known it was a joke, right?"

Raven smiled to herself as she studied her nails. "Maybe. Maybe not."

 _Hey it's Bellamy. My manager_  
                 _showed me the comment I_  
_thought it was funny_

_Haha yeah Raven's idea of a joke.  
                                       Still true, though._

                 _Well thanks princess_

"So are you going to text him back or just leave him hanging?" Octavia interrupted.

Clarke nearly squeaked in alarm, throat constricting and palms clammy. It had been three minutes since she'd read the message and she still hadn't replied. Make that four. "What do I say?!" she cried. It struck her that this was the first time she'd had a conversation with Bellamy that didn't involve Octavia's whereabouts, Octavia's plans, or really Octavia in general.

"You're hopeless. Just give it--"

"Wait, he's typing."

The little bubble floated up, taunting her for a solid thirty seconds, before disappearing again. And reappearing. And disappearing. Was he having as difficult a time as she was? Before Clarke could think better of it, she sent another message and held her breath.

_You_ _finished work soon?  
                                       Wanna maybe grab a drink?_

 _You're with Raven and O,_  
                 _you shouldn't ditch them._

"Shit, I fucked up," Clarke breathed, stomach dropping. A groan went up from Raven and Octavia, along with an assortment of comments that could be summed up to: Clarke can't do anything if it doesn't involve studying and bossing people around. For once, she didn't argue with them. Then another text arrived.

                 _But can I get a raincheck?_  
                 _Maybe later this week?_

_How about Tuesday?  
_

_Ten?_

_Perfect._

"I think I have a date," Clarke said, then again, "I have a date with Bellamy on Tuesday." Raven and Octavia jumped to their feet and slapped high fives, whooping and hugging each other to declarations of "It's about time!" and "Finally!" And very slowly, a delighted little smile split across Clarke's face. She had a _date_.


	2. Step Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven and Octavia take it upon themselves to teach Clarke how to date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe so many people read my work and even liked it. I was blushing and fluttering about all day, you are all so sweet. Hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint.

Her elation at having an actual date with Bellamy was short lived. One, they had yet to actually say it was a real date, so there was a chance he thought they were just hanging out as friends. Likewise, Raven and Octavia dismissed this insecurity within moments: "Of _course_ it's a date, Clarke. He's an idiot if he thinks otherwise." Two, if it was an actual date, that was a lot of pressure. Clarke didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to significant others, after all.

First, there had been the horrific misunderstanding between her and her childhood friend, Wells. She'd only ever thought of him as a brother, but apparently he'd started to think of her as more, and it had effectively ruined the friendship between them for a solid three years. They'd only started talking normally again a few months ago, when Wells came to visit during winter break.

After that, there had been Finn, who was actually the whole reason Clarke met Raven -- both girls had been dating him, completely unaware of the other, until Finn walked into the clinic Clarke volunteered at with his extremely concerned girlfriend. "We were having sex in the kitchen," was the explanation for why Finn had four delicate punctures in his side, courtesy of Raven on the account that Finn wouldn't even look at her. Clarke had been nothing but professional while making sure the wound was clean and taking care of patching him up, but it hadn't taken long for Raven to put two and two together.

Then there was Lexa. She didn't like to think about Lexa.

"Clarke, stop scowling so I can do your makeup properly," Octavia hissed.

Which brought her to reason number three: Raven and Octavia had insisted on helping her get ready. This included clothes that fit too tight and didn't cover nearly enough of her skin, make up that would no doubt make her face break out, and shoes she was going to need an entire team to help her walk in.

"I don't see why this is necessary. We're just going to Grounders," Clarke grumbled, but she did her best to smooth out her features.

"'Why this is necessary,'" Octavia mocked. "Raven, are you listening to her right now?"

Raven appeared from the depths of her closet with an armful of new torture devices, and dropped them on the bed to begin making outfits. "You'll thank us later," she shot out with a pointed look.

"He's seen me after studying for seven days straight on a diet of coffee and crackers. Anything is more impressive than that," Clarke countered. "I don't need eyelashes to my eyebrows."

"Yes, but everyone else at the bar hasn't seen you like that."

"Sorry?"

Raven sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, looking for all the world like she was talking to a four-year-old. Clarke felt her nose scrunch up as she got ready to defend herself, but Octavia tapped her a little too forcefully on the cheek with her brush and Clarke was forced to swallow her words and relax.

"You aren't dressing for him," Raven explained, "you're dressing for everyone else. When you walk into that bar, everyone is going to look at you, everyone is going to want to buy you a drink. And _that_ will be what makes you so attractive. We all know how protective Bellamy is-" here Octavia snorted, "-and the jealousy will drive him insane. Plus, this is a small town. If one of your exes shows up, you're going to want to look your best."

Clarke took a breath and parted her lips, but her protests died in her throat. "Good point," she said instead, remembering how Finn had looked when Clarke introduced Lexa to all their friends. If Lexa were to come by and see her with Bellamy... "I'll cooperate."

"Good. Now look up," Octavia instructed. "Bell won't know what hit him."

* * *

"Whoa," Clarke choked, twisting her face this way and that to get a better look at herself in the mirror. She was expecting... Well, she was expecting huge smokey eyes and too much blush, something like the horrible attempts she'd made in the past to become more feminine. This was nothing like that. Octavia seemed to understand that what worked on her olive skin and elfin features wouldn't look good with Clarke's pale complexion and round face. She'd managed to give her cheekbones real definition, brought out the blue in her eyes, and no matter how hard Clarke scowled, her lips still looked soft and delicate. The best part? It could pass as natural, if Clarke didn't know better. Sure, there were obvious signs, especially around her eyes, but Clarke had given up years ago on thinking her skin could look so smooth or her eyebrows so defined.

"You have to teach me how to do this," she said finally, and Octavia's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"One step at a time, Clarke," the brunette purred, patting her on the shoulder. "Now for your clothes."

"I am _not_ wearing leather pants."

"Damn it, Clarke!" came Raven's protest. " _Fine_." But her voice was laced with laughter. "At least try a couple things."

Getting up from the vanity, Clarke stepped over to the bed and Raven joined her. Five outfits were set out, all of them dark with plunging necklines or too-tight jeans. "You can't expect me to fit these," she choked, dropping a glance at Raven's tiny chest and trim waist. They might be the same height, but they were _not_ the same size.

"Just try them," insisted Octavia as she packed up her brushes and powders.

Grabbing the first set, Clarke tromped to the en suite bathroom with a huff and slid the door shut behind her.

As it turned out, Clarke was right, most of the clothes didn't fit right. Crop tops fell way too short, jeans wouldn't make it past her thighs, and skirts threatened to show entirely too much of her, um, _intimate areas_. Raven provided substitutes, but nothing was working right, and there was no way Clarke could convince them to just let her wear her own clothes. "You haven't been shopping in years," they would say. "We aren't going to find anything." Finally, though, it seemed they were ready to give up. Then Raven launched to her feet and dove into her closet with a cry of, " _I've got it, I've got just the thing_!"

A dress was deposited into Clarke's unwilling hands.

"You have to be kidding," she droned. "I'm not wearing a _dress_. They're almost as impractical as skirts. I'm not putting this on."

"Just _try_ it, Clarke!"

"You've tried enough things already, what's this going to hurt?"

"Fine," she grumbled, getting up. "This is the last thing I'm trying, though, and then I'll dress myself."

"Deal."

In the bathroom once more, Clarke carefully shimmied the white fabric up over her hips and slid the horrific number of straps over her shoulders. To her delight, the dress fell nearly two inches above her knees, which was a definite improvement from the mid-thigh region they'd been hitting so far. The only problem was the zipper. Twisting an arm behind her to hold it closed, Clarke stepped back into the bedroom blushing. "Uh... I can't get it done up," she mumbled.

"Raven, hold it together, I'll get the zipper," Octavia instructed, jumping up with her game face on. "Clarke, turn around and breathe out."

"I don't think it's- _shit_ , can't I _breathe_?"

"I specifically told you _not_ to breathe, so... No."

_This is the last one_ , Clarke reminded herself. _Just cooperate_. Taking half a breath in, Clarke pushed all the air out of her lungs and willed her stomach to be smaller. Raven gasped in delight a the zipper flew up, then stopped just before Clark's shoulders.

"It's the tits," Raven sighed, exasperated. "They're just too-"

"No, we can do this. Clarke, hoist 'em up."

"What? N-"

"Or Raven will do it for you."

"... Hoisting."

And, miraculously, the zipper inched upwards, only to fall short again. Clarke groaned in frustration. "This isn't going to work," she said again, only to be cut off by Raven.

"Bra off."

Clarke whipped around, arms crossed protectively over her bust. "I am _not_ taking my bra off," she protested.

"No, Raven's right. It takes up too much room. Take it off."

"I need the support!"

"The dress is small enough, it's all the support you need. Take it off!"

Clarke hesitated. On one hand, they had a point. On the other hand, this material was beyond thin. What if it was _cold_ in there? Still, Clarke reached around and carefully undid the hooks, slid the straps down her arms, and pulled her bra out the front of the dress. Immediately, her bust lost half an inch, and she tossed the garment onto Raven's duvet. "Happy?" she asked.

"Very," Octavia answered, easily getting the zipper the last two inches up her back while Clarke fiddled with her front.

As much as she hated to admit it, the dress was very nearly perfect. Its a-line gave her some figure, the stitches flattered her in just the right way, and the extra straps sufficed to hold her girls in place as they threatened to leap free. That was where her complaints came into play: "My boobs are huge, I'm not wearing this."

"They're _perfect_ ," Octavia screeched, swatting Clarke on the shoulder. "You look fantastic. Put on these heels."

With strappy black stilettos in place, Clarke allowed Raven to tousle her hair into beachy waves and Octavia to give her face one last check. By the time they were done, Clarke had ten minutes to get to the bar and no time to list off her grievances about the evening. Raven and Octavia shoved her into her car with a too cheerful "Good luck!" and sent her on her way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Clarke's outfit is what Eliza Taylor wore for the summer fashion issue of BELLO magazine, minus the jewelry. (http://i.imgur.com/pn0WEEX.jpg)


	3. Step Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarke has to remember how to play nicely.

Clarke pushed through the door five minutes late, too focused on the time to worry about the height of her heels. Heart in her throat and crease in her brow, her eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim, cozy lighting, and she waded through the sea of conversation looking for Bellamy's dark curls, long strides taking her swiftly to the bar. Sure enough, she picked out the tense curve of his shoulders and harsh line of his jaw within seconds. He'd found himself a perch on a stool towards the end of the wooden bar top, leaning onto his forearms with fingers laced tightly together, foot bouncing impatiently against the seat's leg. For half a second, Clarke savored the image of him, knowing full well she would try to draw him later in his leather jacket and worn denim. Maybe with charcoal. Then Bellamy turned and the moment was lost.

His eyes found hers immediately, gaze holding her fixed to the spot. It was as if all the tension that bled out of him raced across the floor to crawl up her calves and curl its fingers through her ribs, squeezing out any air she hoped to find in her borrowed dress. But as Bellamy's lips curled up into their familiar smirk, Clarke felt her heart shudder back to life with the turn of her blue eyes. Why did he look like he'd just won a prize? Strutting forwards with as much confidence as she could muster -- which, admittedly, wasn't very much -- Clarke stepped up to the stool beside him.

"This seat taken?"

"Yes, actually," he quipped without missing a beat. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone, but I think she stood me up. You're welcome to take it."

"Gee, _thanks_ ," Clarke drawled, throwing one leg over the other and hooking a heel on the chair's crossbar. She dropped an elbow onto the table and perched her chin there, leveling him with a stern stare. "Your faith in me is earth shattering."

Bellamy's eyes softened as his smile grew, and Clarke felt her stomach do an uncomfortable little flip. "You're never late, Princess," he reminded her, voice low. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he added, "Wasn't sure you were coming."

Clarke swallowed hard. _I wasn't, either_ , she thought, but instead she dismissed, "Traffic."

"At ten o'clock on a Tuesday?"

"Alright, _Raven_ ," she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat, cornflower orbs searching for the bartender and definitely _not_ avoiding Bellamy's. His laughter was like a roll of thunder deep within his chest, but it was soft against her ears, restrained by whatever scrap of decency he could find. "Don't laugh at me," Clarke grumbled, resisting the urge to hit him. "I can always leave."

"No, no," Bellamy said quickly, reaching out to splay his fingers over her lower back and rest a hand atop her wrist. She quirked a brow, fighting off her own snickers. What was he going to do, hold her there? "Please don't," he insisted, and was she imagining it or did his smile really falter?

Clarke thawed and cracked a grin, unraveling herself to square her shoulders to him, their knees bumping. "Fine," she sighed, struggling to remain poised. "Since you asked nicely." And there it was, that knowing smirk, crinkling around his eyes and making her only too aware of how attractive she never knew freckles could be. Suddenly, Clarke found herself very interested in a knot on the bar, fingers tracing the grain of the wood. She wet her lips, took a breath-

"Good," Bellamy said, cutting her off. "I've been looking forward to this since Friday."

She looked up, startled, and found him engrossed in ordering them each a drink: Strongbow for him and a snakebite for her. As the barkeep turned away, Clarke tipped her head and narrowed her eyes at Bellamy. "I was going to say that," she accused softly, and was rewarded by his nervous fingers drumming against the counter. "How did you know what drink I like?"

"You always order the same thing," Bellamy explained, finally meeting her scrutinizing look with one of unflappable confidence. "Whenever O drags me to go out with all of you, or Miller insists just him showing up would be weird, you're drinking a snakebite. Unless you're trying to impress someone, which is when you order wine; white." He hesitated before pointing out, "You only drank wine whenever Lexa was around."

Clarke bit her tongue to keep from flinching at the sound of her name. _It was three months ago, get over it_ , she reminded herself. _You only thought you loved her_. Forcing a smile, Clarke asked, "You're not stalking me, are you?"

Bellamy laughed, looking relieved. "Don't flatter yourself, Princess," he replied, too quickly to be anything but automatic. "I _do_ have a life of my own."

"Oh, please," Clarke snorted, interrupting herself to thank the bartender for her drink. "You split your time between smothering Octavia and working yourself to death. That's not a _life_."

"Oh, because that co-op program at the hospital is?" Bellamy retorted. "If you aren't working thirty or more hours straight, you're studying for exams."

"Alright, so we both could stand to get out more," she huffed. "My point still stands."

"As long as you're aware that you're a hypocrite."

"Why am I here again?"

"Something to do with my undeniable charm."

"Riiiiight." Bellamy bumped her lightly with his shoulder as Clarke went to take a sip and she froze just before she knocked her teeth into the edge of the pint. Glaring at him, she scoffed and took a large gulp. When had they gravitated so close to each other? Not that she was complaining, she was rather enjoying the heat radiating off his arm and seeping into her skin.

"C'mon, Princess," he said, leaning away and standing up. Clarke smothered the whine building in the back of her throat at the sudden lack of warmth; she'd been right, it was cold in here and she didn't have a jacket. "I'll let you beat me at pool."

"Um, I'm sorry, _let_ me?" she echoed, jumping to her feet. "We'll see about that."

* * *

 

Two hours and two and a half games of billiards later, Clarke smiled serenely as she lined up her shot. "Fourteen. Top left pocket," she called, and let the weight of her arm swing forward into the cue, pole sending the white orb rocketing across the green to clack solidly into her target. It flew straight into the pocket as the cue ball ricochet into the seven, which brushed the yellow and white nine over the edge into another. Straightening, she lifted her brows at Bellamy, who covered his expression with a hand. They were tied and whoever won this game would take the night. So far, Clarke was decidedly in the lead. And it definitely did not have to do with her leaning over the table every time Bellamy had his turn.

"Eleven. Right middle," she purred, then faltered as Bellamy ran his thumb over his lower lip. Her strike went wide and she fouled with a soft curse.

"My turn," he said, swaggering up to the table and picking up the white ball. Returning to the bottom of the table, Bellamy set it down to line up his first shot. "Seven, left middle." It sank. "Four, top right." It and the one dipped out of sight, right along with Clarke's confidence. She finished off her third beer as Bellamy missed the one, but managed to knock it to the edge.

"My tur-"

"Two shots, remember?"

"Shit."

"One, bottom right." It sank. Bellamy slid up beside Clarke and rested a hand on her waist. "You're in the way, Princess," he said, clearly gloating.

Rather than groan like she wanted to, Clarke set a hand on his chest and glanced up at Bellamy through her lashes. "I'm actually getting kind of tired, maybe we should-"

"Ooooh no you don't," Bellamy said, stepping forwards and forcing her to inch back. He kept an arm securely around her to keep her from tripping with the unexpected movement. "You're not seducing me out of my win."

"Seduce? Me? _No_."

" _Mmhm_. Right."

Breaking away from her, Bellamy lined up his shot. "Eight. Middle left." Clarke held her breath as he swung- and effortlessly made the shot. Her breath left her in a rush as he whooped, dancing away with a boyish smile. "I believe that means I won." Bellamy winked at her over the rim of his glass, causing Clarke to jut out a hip and cross her arms under her bust haughtily. Setting down the glass and his cue, he stalked towards her with a predatory grin, and settled a hand on each of her hips.

"C'mon, all's fair in love and war," he reminded her, craning his neck to force her to meet his eyes. "I'll bet you're amazing at darts."

"I'll bet you're-" Clarke started, but had to clamp a hand over her mouth as a yawn threatened to bubble over.

The strain must have been evident, because Bellamy chuckled, "Bedtime for Princess?" She hit him squarely in the chest and he backed away with a laugh that was better described as a cackle.

" _No_ ," she pouted, but Clarke reached into her purse for her phone anyway. It was nearly one in the morning. Had they really been there for that long? She resisted the urge to rub her eyes, having to remind herself yet again that she was wearing makeup. "It _is_ getting late, though."

"You drove here?" Bellamy asked as he tidied up after them, putting away cues and hanging up the triangle. Clarke nodded. "You okay to drive?" She must've hesitated, because Bellamy immediately suggested, "Come on, let's walk around for a bit, if you really aren't tired."

"Okay," she agreed, grabbing her bag and rifling through it for her wallet.

"Don't worry about it, I've got it this time," Bellamy said, dropping a few twenties on the table and guiding her towards the door. Her protests fell on deaf ears, and before Clarke knew it, they were out on the street.

Night had brought a chill. While she'd adjusted to the bar, she felt a shiver run up her spine under the clear skies. Rather than ask, Bellamy simply dropped his jacket around her shoulders, and Clarke found herself enveloped in the scent of pine and spice. Slipping her arms through sleeves that fell nearly to her fingertips, Clarke mumbled, "Thanks."

"No problem."

In comfortable silence, they weaved their way through the streets and down to the coast, Clarke pausing to remove her shoes before stepping out onto the sand. Tiny waves lapped gently against the shore, made tame by a thin peninsula. Lights glittered far across the water, but Clarke tipped her head back to stare up at the stars, and felt Bellamy's presence a hair's breath behind her.

"You can't see them right now, but this time of year, Venus, Mars, Regulus, and Jupiter are visible," he said. His hands dropped lightly onto her shoulders and turned her slightly further east. "Those two lights, there, right over the horizon. The bottom one is Jupiter. That's Venus. Regulus is in the middle - you can see it if you squint - right below Mars, and is the bottom of the sickle constellation. It shoots up left, then curves right."

"I see it."

Bellamy turned her northward and pointed out another silver dot. No, wait. Gold, right by the moon, nestled among a few others. "That's Saturn," he explained. "The lights around it are its moons. You need a telescope to see the rings, but not a very big one."

"Where'd you learn all this?" Clarke asked.

"My mom," he answered simply. "She taught me all the constellations." Clarke held her breath, hoping he would say more, but Bellamy left it there.

Leaning back a fraction into his chest, Clarke tipped her chin up and whispered, "You don't talk about her much."

"Not a whole lot to say."

"She was your _mom_ , Bellamy."

"She wasn't a very good one." His arms dropped around her waist, somewhat softening the sting of his voice. Clarke was afraid she'd crossed a line when he added, "She taught me about history, too. My bedtime stories were about Julius Cesar and the Ming Dynasty."

"Is that why you love history so much?"

"Yeah. Did you know I named Octavia when she was born? I named her after the Roman emperor Augustus' sister. _Two_ sisters, technically. There was Octavia Major, his older half-sister, and Octavia Minor, who is the one everyone talks about. She was married to Mark Antony and was the one who negotiated between him and her brother to help with her husband's war efforts. After she got him the troops, he divorced her and left her with their five children. He was her second husband, though. She raised all five kids on her own at her brother's home while working as an adviser to multiple politicians. The only thing that broke her was when her son died. She-... Sorry."

"For what?"

"You must be bored."

Clarke snorted and elbowed Bellamy lightly in the stomach. "Well, I'm not," she shot back. "I like listening to you. I don't know a lot of history. It's nice to learn something new."

"Maybe another time then," Bellamy chuckled, drawing away from her. Clarke resisted the urge to hold him there. "We should head back."

"Probably," she agreed. It had to be past two now. Clarke didn't bother hiding her yawn as she turned to follow him back up the beach and to the road. "Tell me more about Octavia."

* * *

 

Clarke hesitated at her car, door open and keys in hand. "I-" she started, before growing self-conscious and finishing, "-should give you back your jacket."

Bellamy shook his head. "Keep it if you're cold. Not like I won't see you again."

She smiled at that, but still shrugged her way out of it. "It's your favorite one," she countered. Actually, she was pretty sure it was his _only_ one, but she didn't say that. Bellamy accepted the jacket and slid it up his arms. Clarke reached up automatically to fix the collar, which had folded under, and allowed her hand to linger before pulling it away, realizing how thick the air was. She felt compelled to say something, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"I should get going," Bellamy supplied instead, breaking the silence and stepping away. He cracked a smile. "I'll see you later, Princess."

"Y-yeah," Clarke stuttered. As he turned and walked away, she called after him, "Hey, Bellamy?"

"Hm?"

"This was a _date_ , right? Not just... hanging out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kind of just decided that the unnamed town they live in is set up similarly to Vancouver, where the 100 is filmed, just way smaller.


	4. Step Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Bellamy?"
> 
> "Hm?"
> 
> "This was a date, right? Not just... hanging out?"

Silence hung, thick and suffocating, heavy with the weight of her question and Bellamy's complete lack of an answer. His eyes had grown wide, dark eyes reflecting the street lights and making them unreadable, his lips parted. He was frozen, and Clarke couldn't help but think it was with horror. She should've known better, really, especially considering that she was friends with his _younger_ sister. He probably thought of her as a child.

Forcing herself to laugh, Clarke shook her head. "Hey, don't worry about it," she dismissed, already dropping her gaze and busying herself with navigating her skirt to get in the car and _get the hell away from here_. "My mistake. I guess I just-"

"Clarke, wait."

"No, Bellamy, it's fine, just-"

"Clarke!"

The blonde snapped her head up, snarl in place, ready to defend herself and make an escape to somewhere she could cry without making an even bigger fool of herself. Bellamy didn't let her get out another word. Instead, he hoisted her fully out of the car by a bicep, managing to close the door behind her, and pinned her against its cold surface. Chills raced up her spine and across her body from the shock, but the icy needles sinking into her skin were completely forgotten when Bellamy's lips collided with her own.

Clarke wasn't sure what she had been expecting. It was nothing like any kiss she'd received before. With Finn, his lips had always felt thin, his touches hesitant but adoring. They'd left her shy, thrust into uncharted territory. Lexa's had been the full fairytale, complete with butterflies in her stomach and a breathlessness that never really went away. One kiss from her could leave Clarke's mind completely empty, make her forget any worry. Bellamy's...

Bellamy's kisses were passion and hunger and _need_. His fingers threaded into her hair, holding her there and making escape impossible. Not that she _wanted_ to go. The crush of his lips left her begging- no, _demanding_ more. Clarke surged against him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, and put all the nerves, all the tension, all the anxiety of the evening into her kiss. She drew his lower lip between her teeth, tugging gently, and felt his gasp against her mouth, the sound going straight to her core. It was the following growl that had her toes curling, however, and Bellamy's kisses moved from her mouth, to her jaw, to the soft skin of her neck. They lingered, hot and uncompromising, against her pulse, and Clarke tipped up her chin to give him better access, lashes fluttering and eyes rolling as he sucked and a jolt raced across her clavicle, knocking the air from her lungs. His teeth dragged the length of her jaw before he was kissing her again, and then all at once he pulled away.

" _Fuck_ , sorry, I've been wanting to do that all night."

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him, hands dropping back to her sides. Bellamy dragged his hands through his hair and took another step away from her, shaking his head. "I didn't say _stop_ ," she said. But he hadn't answered her original question. "I'm going to assume that was a... a yes?"

"God, _yes_ ," Bellamy groaned, drifting closer, though he still looked hesitant. It was actually kind of novel. When was Bellamy Blake ever unsure of himself? Rather than draw it out like she was tempted to, however, Clarke took mercy on him and extended an arm, hooking her finger through his belt loop and tugging Bellamy ever closer. "I wasn't... sure," he said, visibly struggling to articulate himself. Clarke waited patiently, savoring the feeling on his hands on her waist. "I figured I would just read the mood and be happy with whatever, but... Yeah. I was sort of hoping this was a date."

"Good," she stating, nodding once. "If it wasn't, that would've been really awkward."

"Yeah."

A pause. Trying not to smile like a fool, Clarke forced herself to stop staring at Bellamy's chest and lifted her head, only to find him watching her intently. When she met his gaze, Bellamy cracked a wry smile. "So," he asked, "can I kiss you again?"

"God, _yes_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short 'n' sweet ending for all of you. I was sorely tempted to make it an unhappy ending, not gonna lie.

**Author's Note:**

> There's this post on Tumblr about how someone sent in a review to Dominos saying "Allante was cute af" and Allante then proceeds to text them saying his manager showed him the review and he thought it was funny. Obviously I had to make my first Bellarke fic about it. If enough people like it, I'll post another chapter.


End file.
